


A Matter of Trust

by spikesgirl58



Category: Man from Uncle - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-03
Updated: 2012-08-03
Packaged: 2017-11-11 08:40:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/476687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While on a stake out, Illya has to decide whom to trust.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Matter of Trust

 

This day was starting out way too early… or late, depending upon what side of the coin fell up.

 

The world was quiet, still asleep, taunting him as if he was the only one foolish enough to be awake – foolish or green enough.  This was one part about being a junior agent Illya didn’t care much for. That of showing people that not only could he do the job and do it well, but also that they could trust him.

 

Trust was quite the issue with him and his coworkers.  They watched him here, all the time. it was like being back in the Soviet Union.  They stared at him in the canteen, possibly afraid that he might steal the salt and pepper shakers and send them back home.  He didn’t know what motivated these Americans.  They watched in the locker room, in the hallways.    _Ад(_ hell _),_ they probably watched him at home.  He’d been through his new apartment a half a dozen times and not found anything, but once a ‘government employee’, always a ‘government employee.’  Certainly there had been some suspicion and mistrust when he started in London, but he’d proven himself there.  Apparently, now he had to prove himself here… all over again, under the watchful eyes of his co-workers.

 

That being the case, perhaps he should celebrate his solitude.  He sipped the coffee and winced.  Not only was it cold, it was also just plain awful.   He longed for the coffee from the little shop just down from his London flat.  He missed the proprietor, an old woman who reminded him of his grandmother.  He especially missed her very attractive daughter and even more handsome son.  He’d spent some very good times in their obliging arms.

 

 

He documented a bum who paused to empty his bladder just short of the stairs, but decided that including strength of stream and duration was pushing the point, even for him.  Illya watched carefully to reassure himself that the man neither planted nor removed anything from the stoop. 

 

If there had been someone with him, he’d have followed the man just to be certain, but his back up had been rush to Emergency with appendicitis.  Illya was all that there was and while it wasn’t much of an assignment, it was his solitary mission since coming to the States and he was determined to tackle it with the same dogged determination that he did everything else in his life.

 

A car stopped across the street and Illya noted the time, make, license plate information, as much detail of the driver as he could see.  cat knocked off a garbage can lid and a light briefly came on, but then it clicked back off a few minutes later.   Illya noted the color of the cat and the direction it headed in, mostly just to silence the _умный жопа_ (smart ass) side of his personality.

 

He grabbed a pair of headphones and listened, but aside from some shuffling, a toilet flushing and some assorted associated noises, nothing suspicious came from the house.

 

At least his relief would be here in… four hours.  At least he’d made the halfway mark.  Illya swore to himself and stood to stretch his back.  That’s when he heard the creak outside the door.  His training told him to head for the door, stand to one side and surprise the intruder.  Yet, if he did that, it would mean losing sight of the surveillance target.  It could be a trap to give whoever was in the house a chance to move.  Instead he pulled a dark stocking cap over his blond hair and took to the shadows, splitting his attention between the door and the window, his pistol at the ready.

 

The door openly slowly and Illya clicked off the safety.  All the while, he kept the house in view.

 

“Illya?” 

 

Illya groaned at the sound of his temporary partner’s voice.  “Napoleon, what are you doing here?”  He liked the American and felt comfortable around him.  The man spoke Russian and Illya found that to be of comfort occasionally.  Napoleon didn’t stare at him with the same glazed eye of distrust and suspicion as did everyone else.

 

“Heard about Correll’s trip to the hospital and thought you might be needing a little pick-me-up about now.”

 

Illya holstered the P.38 and resumed his seat at the window.  “I nearly shot you.”

 

“Nerves that high strung are they?  Here, I brought you something.  Maybe it should have been decaff though.”  Napoleon offered him a cup.  It was hot and smelled fresh.  “There’s nothing worse than a stake out on your own.  Do you want me to take over?”

 

“No, it’s fine.”  Illya sipped the coffee carefully and then set the cup away from him.  You only wore hot coffee once not to make that mistake again. 

 

“Anything going on?”

 

“Nothing whatsoever.”  Illya passed over his notes, his attention back on the building.

 

Napoleon glanced at them, smiled and handed the clipboard back.  “So what are you looking for?”

 

“No idea, I was just told to watch and document.”

 

“Well, you are certainly doing that.  Did you even ask why?”

 

“Why is a senior agent’s privilege, not mine.  I am to do what I am told to do.”

 

“Yes, but you must wonder...”

 

“I am human, Napoleon.”    Illya rocked his head side to side to stretch stiff muscle.  This assignment would have been easier if he hadn’t been kicked from a truck a week prior.  Only now were his bruises and scrapes starting to fade.  His neck still hurt, but he chose not to share that with the UNCLE doctors.  They were over cautious compared to Soviet doctors. If he even let on that his neck hurt and they’d have him stretched out on his back pumped full of chemicals, other agents no doubt hovering around him waiting for him to babble State secrets.

 

“I’d heard rumors to the contrary.  Neck still bothering you?”

 

“No, it’s fine.”  Illya jumped slightly at the feeling of hands on the fabric of his turtleneck.  He kept forgetting how tactile Napoleon was.

 

“You’re a little high strung, Agent Kuryakin.”  Illya clamped his jaw shut to avoid moaning as Napoleon’s fingers worked the stiff muscles of his neck and shoulders.  “You should at let see Jerry.  He’d work those kinks out.”

 

“I really am fine, Napo…”  He hissed as those fingers found a particular sore spot.

 

“Yes, you sound fine, Illya.  As senior agent, I could order…”

 

“And we all know how well that will turn out.”  Napoleon was one of the few people here that felt comfortable arguing with.  Even though the man was his superior, Illya saw him more as an equal than his boss.  Perhaps that was wrong of him, but it felt right and it felt… easy.  Right now, Illya welcomed a little more easy in his life.  Still, if Napoleon made it a formal order, Illya was predisposed to obey.

 

“You don’t have to drive yourself this hard, Illya.  You had downtime coming after that last assignment, you should have taken it.  Given yourself time to heal.”  Illya smirked at that.    
“What?”

 

“You Americans coddle yourselves.  Back home, if you are breathing, you are duty bound to report as ordered.  Or not.”

 

“Not report?”

 

“Not be breathing.  There were a few of the senior agents… I wasn’t exactly sure…”

 

Napoleon laughed and held out a bag.  “Something else to help you while away the hours.” Illya’s attention swayed from his watch as he caught an unmistakable aroma.

 

“You didn’t?”

 

“And Mama Lou sends her regards.” 

 

Illya took the bag and opened it, pulling out an overstuff jelly doughnut.  He sighed happily and bit into it.  Jelly gushed everywhere and he momentarily closed his eyes in delight and licked his lips.  When he opened them, Napoleon was grinning and offering him a napkin.

 

Smiling, Illya accepted it, wipe his mouth and returned to his surveillance.

 

“Illya, look at me.”

 

He automatically looked at Napoleon and the dark haired agent leaned close and wipe a bit of jelly from Illya’s chin and then deliberately licked his finger.   All the while, Napoleon watched Illya through half closed eyes.  There was nothing mistakable in the message he was being sent.

 

Illya swallowed and shifted slightly away from his partner.  He’d been fairly certain that Napoleon had been broadcasting a rather straight forward message to him from about the third week in their partnership.  And as wonderful as it would be to take Napoleon up on his invitation, there were some stumbling blocks. 

 

First, Napoleon was his superior and Illya learned early in his career what becoming involved with a senior office cost.  He’d seen more than one of his contemporaries led to the firing squad for ‘unnatural crimes against humanity’ – it was never the senior officer punished even when he was at fault.  As a result, Illya steered clear of his superiors, especially those of ‘that’ persuasion. 

 

Secondly, Illya was on assignment.  His eyes snapped back to the building, but it was still as quiet as it had been all morning.

 

Third and foremost, as desperate as he was for that sort of human connection, it would not be with an American with their inhibitions and reserve.  What Illya wanted he very much doubted Napoleon could give him, not the way he wanted and needed it.  For that, Illya would have to haunt the back alleys of Little Russia.

 

He nodded to Napoleon politely.  “Thank you.”  He followed the path Napoleon’s finger had taken with a napkin.  For a moment, he wasn’t sure if Napoleon was going to kiss or punch him, but in the end he just sat back looking vaguely disappointed.

 

“Well, if you don’t need anything, I’ll be going.”  Napoleon started back towards the door.

 

“Napoleon?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“I really do… thank you.”  Illya smiled and then returned again to the very familiar sight of the brownstone building.  He heard the door open and close softly.  He hazarded a fast look over his shoulder and then let out the breath he was holding.  That had been hard, probably the hardest thing he’d had to endure since being here.  He would have to find someone and soon, perhaps this weekend.

 

 

Two hours crept by and the sun rose, Illya wrote down the time.  He noted the birds that came squabbled noisily at a window box on the east side of the door.  He didn’t know their breed, but were fairly certain they weren’t thrush. 

 

There was enough activity on the street now that it was easy to stay focused and attentive.  When his communicator sounded, he jumped and sat back abruptly, wincing at the pull in his side.  That would have been from the cracked rib he ‘forgot’ to mention to the doctors.  He pressed a palm against it and pressed gently.  That helped… a little.

 

“Kuryakin.”

 

“Mr. Kuryakin.”  Illya recognized Waverly’s voice, in spite of the usual distortion.

 

“Sir?”

 

“Your mission has been cancelled.  Please report to headquarters immediately.”

 

For a moment, Illya wondered if that was a Soviet or American immediately.  He would have loved to have stopped at his apartment for a shower and change of clothes, but opted for the more pressing of the two. 

 

Carefully, making sure he left no trace behind, he gathered everything he’d brought with him and stuffed it all into the rucksack.  Hurriedly, he ate the last jelly doughnut and drank the rest of the coffee and crumbled up the trash.  It too went into the sack.  When he was certain nothing of himself remained behind, he left.

 

No one paid him much attention as he walked through the corridor towards Waverly’s office.  They were too busy with their own tasks, to pay the rumbling, slumped shouldered agent any mind.  He paused at a restroom just long enough to take care of business and ran a wet paper towel over his face.  He needed to shave, but figured Waverly wouldn’t mind him looking a bit bedraggled.

 

As he entered Waverly’s office, he wasn’t surprised that Napoleon was already at the table, looking polished and pressed as if he’d just come from a tailor’s shop.   There were folders on the table.  He was being sent out again. No rest for the wicked or him either apparently.

 

“Excellent, Mr. Kuryakin, we can begin.”  Waverly indicated a seat and Illya eased himself into it, taking care not to betray anything that the old man might take as weakness of body or spirit.

 

Illya sat and reached into his jacket pocket for his glasses.  He slipped them on and flipped open the folder.  He read, then frowned and started again.  “I don’t understand, sir.”

 

“Those are your new duties as a senior officer.  See that you familiarize yourself with them and be ready to fulfill them on Monday.  At that point, you will be permanently assigned.”

 

“Sir?”

 

“Now you will report to Medical for evaluation for field duty.  I suspect a few days of rest might be indicated.”

 

Illya shot a glare in Napoleon’s direction, but the man had taken a sudden interest in the carpet.

 

“Yes, sir.”  Illya knew better than to argue with Waverly.

 

“Mr. Solo, see that Mr. Kuryakin doesn’t get lost between here and Medical.  Dismissed.”

 

Both men rose and walked from the room.  It was only when the door was shut and they are a safe distance away, that Illya muttered a sharp.  “Thanks a lot, Napoleon!”

 

“My honor as a boy scout, I never said word one to him.  The man has eyes, some say even in the back of his head.”

 

“I rather doubt that.”

 

“Still, congratulations on your promotion.  Yours has been one of the fastest rises through UNCLE ranks.”

 

“The fastest?”  Napoleon patted his chest and Illya smirked.  “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

 

They rode the elevator down in silence and the doctor greeted them as the elevator doors slid open.

 

“Here you go, doc.  As ordered.”

 

“Finally!  Mr. Kuryakin, if you’ll follow me…?”   Illya cast one more glare back in Napoleon’s direction, but the man was already busy flirting with a nurse.

 

                                                                                ****

 

Illya stared into his glass at the clear liquid.  It was amazing to him what passed as vodka in this country.  He was sure if he could get a look at the bottle, it would verify that this had come from some place other than the USSR, like Canada.  Still, he drained the glass and wondered about making another trip to the bar.  In reality, he should go home and rest.

 

A glass was set in front of him and he looked up at a beaming Napoleon.  He sat and held up a tumbler to Illya’s old fashion glass.  “ _Nostrovia_.”

 

 _“Выпьем за то, чтобы у нас всегда был повод для праздника_ (May we always have a reason to celebrate).”  Illya lifted his glass and drank, then frowned.  “Where did you get this?”

 

Napoleon set the bottle of Stoli Elite on the table and grinned.  “I figured you deserved the good stuff in honor of your promotion.”  He lifted his glass again.  “What did the doctor say?”

 

“That I am to ‘take it easy.’”  Illya drank again.  “Whatever that means.”

 

“That’s American for rest and relaxation.  Don’t worry, come Monday I’ll be working your tail into the ground again.”

 

“How so?”

 

“Didn’t you read the file?”

“Not yet.  I have been taking it easy.”

 

“Waverly permanently assigned us.   I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”

 

“Does this mean you’ll become less insufferable?”

 

“No, but you can share my secretary.”  Napoleon rested a hand on Illya’s arm and squeezed.  He knew it was the alcohol reading more into it than was really there.  And before he made a complete fool of himself, it was time to go.  With a grunt, Illya got to his feet.  "Where are you going?  The night’s still young.”

 

“So says the man who hasn’t been up for thirty eight hours.  Thank you for the drink.”

 

“Keep the bottle.  Vodka and I have an old understanding.  I don’t drink it and it doesn’t tell me when to vomit.”

 

“Only Americans would get drunk on vodka.”  Illya pulled on his overcoat and shouldered his way through the growing crowd.  It wasn’t until he was on the street that he realized Napoleon was still beside him.   “Napoleon, please, I’m tired, I’m sore and just a little incapacitated. Besides, I thought you had a date.”

 

“I did, but something came up.”  Napoleon straightened out the collar on Illya’s jacket.

 

“What?”

 

“You.  Let’s go, partner.”

 

 


End file.
